Mirrors
by Ninazadzia
Summary: While Natasha Romanoff's feelings for Steve Rogers go unrequited, Bucky Barnes is there to fill that void. T for language and sexual innuendo. Winter Soldier x Black Widow. One-shot (for now).


**Author's Note: **So this is set following the events of Civil War. Canon-adjacent – Natasha, Steve, Sam and Wanda are on the run. Instead of the Winter Soldier going directly to Wakanda, he joins the secret Avengers at the outset of them being on the run from the government.

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**Mirrors**

By Ninazadzia

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"_I hear your heart beating in your chest  
The world slows 'till there's nothing left  
Skyscrapers look on like great, unblinking giants_

_In those heavy days in June  
When love became an act of defiance…"_

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Riga, Latvia – June, 2016

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Never in my wildest dreams I think that my first kiss in a year would be with James Barnes, of all people.

It happened when we were Riga, in the safe house of one of my old classmate's from the Red Room. It took me a week to track them down—once news of the security breach at the Raft prison reached me, I'd already made myself scarce. I'd been on a bus from Munich to the Baltic States, stowing a bottle of blonde hair dye in my purse for good measure. Last I'd heard from Yelena, it had been years. Her younger sister kept in touch sporadically, and I figured finding her was the best chance I had at laying low, at least for a little while.

I'd initially planned to make the trip solo, assuming Rogers and the rest of them had been imprisoned. But once news of their escape broke, I couldn't keep myself from calling.

We'd had a couple too many glasses of wine at dinner that night. In the end, it was just Steve, Barnes and I, seated around a circular table, staring at the flickering candlestick in front of us

"Alright," Steve announced, polishing off the last sip in his glass. "I'm going to call it a night. Don't stay up too late, you two."

"Alright, dad," I called after him, my line of sight squarely fixed on the back of his head as he exited the room.

Barnes chuckled. "You know he can't get drunk, right?"

"Oh, I'm well aware." I leaned back into my chair, kicking my feet up onto the edge of the table. The wine was smooth, dry and full-bodied. "Believe me. This," I tipped my glass in Barnes's direction, "Is one of my favorite ways to extract information from people. If Rogers could even get a light buzz, I would've noticed it years ago."

"You don't say?" He grabbed the bottle, topping off his glass, before motioning the bottle to me. I shook my head, covering the glass with my hand. "Tell me—what info are you hoping to get out of Rogers?"

"Why, are you going to help me?"

He laughed. "I don't need to. He's an open book. If there's anything you wanted to know from him—_really _wanted to know from him—he would've told you already."

I stared down at the glass. I could feel Barnes' gaze burning into the side of my head.

The Winter Soldier was as familiar to me as he was terrifying. I could thank him for the six inch scar right above my hipbone, sure, but that wasn't the most unsettling thing about him—there was a quiet, analytic reserve about him that made my skin crawl. It was the same kind of perceptive manipulation I'd been taught to use against my enemies, all of those years I spent training in the Red Room. And there I was, more than a decade later, in a room with someone who could read me like a book.

"You already know, don't you?" I replied, turning my head to face his.

The ghost of a smile played upon his lips. He lifted the glass, taking a long, drawn-out sip. "Of course I do," he finally replied.

My heart skipped a beat. "What gave it away? Surely not the way I look at him—I'm careful to cover my tracks."

"No," he agreed. "That wasn't it. It's much more subtle than that."

"Well, then enlighten me, soldier."

He snickered. "I probably wouldn't have even noticed if he wasn't my best friend." He sighed. "Steve's…how do I put this—he's already got you compartmentalized. Put you into a box." He tipped the bottle in my direction. This time, I accepted, watching as the red liquid hit the bottom of the glass. "Which I'm sure you two have talked about."

I stared at him blankly.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." He cleared his throat. "Let me guess—you made a pass at him, and he, what, turned you down?"

"I wouldn't put it like that."

"Right," he chuckled. "Of course not. You wouldn't put yourself out there, not unless you new you had him right where you wanted him. No—you cast a line, trying to see what you could reel in. And he drew a clear boundary."

I sighed. I didn't trust the man, let alone like him—but I was effectively letting him in on a secret I kept close to the vest. Well, then again—it wasn't like he didn't already know.

Besides. Barnes being as close to Rogers as he was, maybe he could be useful.

"Said he wanted me to be a friend," I replied, carefully.

"And you're wanting to know if he meant that?"

I slowly looked up to meet his gaze. He was smirking at me, his eyes crinkled as if I was the most amusing thing he'd ever seen. "Only if you won't be an ass about it," I said.

I meant it to sound threatening, but it came out a touch more defensive than I would've liked.

"Well, he's attracted to you," he said simply, "but you already knew that. You're objectively an attractive person, he'd be a fool not to be." If my face flushed crimson, Barnes didn't make any mention of it. Instead, his gaze bore into mine. "He has a lot of respect for you. Doesn't quite understand you, since you operate under such different codes—but he thinks you're a worthy ally, and he trusts you for reasons maybe he can't even explain himself." He shrugged. "Probably enjoys your company on some level, otherwise he wouldn't have said he wanted to be friends with you."

"Why do I get the sense there's a 'but' coming?"

Barnes shifted his chair slightly closer to mine, dropping his voice to a low whisper. "But he doesn't think you're worth the risk. The few times it's crossed his mind, he's written you off. Thinks the likelihood of a positive outcome is too low. That you'd get too attached, or that he would, and that when it inevitably ended the team would fracture."

"Alright, Barnes. Nice try. You clearly don't know me in the slightest."

He sat up, raising an eyebrow. "Is that right?"

"You're a fool if you think I'd ever let a relationship get in the way of my work."

"Then let me ask you this—where the hell is Bruce Banner right now?"

I stopped as the wine glass was about to hit my lips.

"And if you knew where he was," he continued, his voice low and even, "Would you be here?"

I stared at him, searching his expression, his face illuminated by the candlelight. There was both a seriousness and a playfulness to him that I hadn't expected. He was the same hardened man I'd met years before, yet here he was, looking at me as if she was the most entertaining thing in the goddamned world. It was as if my affection for Steve Rogers made me something to be laughed at.

I stood up the second that thought crossed her mind. "It's late. I'm going to bed."

He nodded, his gaze still fixed on mine. "Right."

I set her glass on the table, turning on my heel to walk out of the room. How fucking stupid of me—to think I could trust the Winter Soldier, of all people, with anything. Especially something as delicate as whatever it was I felt for Steve.

"Romanoff?"

I hesitated before turning around, only doing so because I could see the reflection of his expression in the mirror in front of me. The playfulness had dissipated.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly, "I didn't mean to overstep my bounds."

I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. "Right."

* * *

I lay in bed awake that night, replaying my conversation with Barnes over and over again in my head. Of course, he wasn't doing anything more than confirming what I'd already suspected—as much as Rogers might care for me, he'd sooner date a civilian than think of entangling himself with me. Hell, that was assuming Roger had any needs he wanted fulfilled—he'd sooner be a pious monk than date anyone, civilian or otherwise. I knew that much.

I scratched at the cuticles of my fingertips. Then why the hell did it bother me so much?

I was on the precipice on sleep and consciousness, about to drift off. I couldn't shake the way Barnes' gray eyes had crinkled, how his long hair brushed against his brow-bone. His face was marred with scars from decades of combat, some of which could well have been my own.

I jolted up straight, realizing it wasn't just a picture of Barnes I'd conjured up in my head. He was standing in the doorframe directly in front of me.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine," I replied, pulling the sheets off of me, sitting up to cross my legs. Because, really, it was. For all of those years I'd spent trying to find the Winter Soldier with Steve, I'd only ever remembered him as the assassin I'd encountered seven years prior in Iran. But as he stood in front of me, I didn't see the Russian Soldier trained to kill.

I only saw a mirrored reflection of myself.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

I shook my head. "The bed's too soft."

"Better than sleeping on the floor, I'd bet."

I nodded. Yelena's sister only had one spare room. Sam and Steve had occupied both the couches, and Wanda was in the attic. I had the only extra bed in the house. Barnes had likely set up shop on the carpet in the living room.

The words escaped my mouth before I could change my mind. "Is that was this is, Barnes? Are you asking for an invitation?"

"Only if that's what you want."

I paused, searching his face for any indication of amusement. His usually cold eyes had a hint of warmth behind them. Maybe it was just the wine.

"Well by all means, then," I replied before I could think better of it, "I'm not going to subject you to the living room floor."

I rolled onto my side, and closed my eyes as I listened to him traverse the room. As he lay down under the sheets, I turned to face him, feeling his breath against my nose. He smelled of the wine we had at dinner.

"Thank you," he murmured.

I let my eyes open a crack. It was strange how familiar the contour of his face felt, inches away from mine, against the chalk white sheets of my bed.

"Why do I feel like we've been here before?" I whispered. "Something about you, and this… it's familiar."

He shrugged, glancing up at the ceiling. "Because maybe we have." He trained his gaze back in my direction. "But I wouldn't know, would I?"

"No, you wouldn't." He'd spent the better part of the last two decades with Hydra in his head, and only had flashes of memories to draw from. Besides, he'd been in Siberia for most of that time.

It wasn't like…he couldn't possibly have been…

I shook my head, dismissing the idea almost as quickly as it crossed my mind. Because as unnerving and as the idea of it was, had I met James Barnes in a previous life, when I was part of the KGB, there wasn't a doubt in my mind I would've remembered him.

"Hey," he whispered, pulling me out of my reverie. "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends on what that is."

"If we had known each other, however many years ago that might have been—would that mean anything to you?"

I searched his expression, my breath hitching as I came up with the answer. "Maybe. But I don't think so."

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. "Right."

We lay there in silence for a minute, both of us perfectly still, not a sound in the room except the rising and falling of our breath. Even if I hadn't known him back then, if that only time we'd met had been when he'd shot me in Iran—I might as well have. We were two hardened souls, raised and brainwashed by the same government, both prisoners to the same wretched moral code.

Both of us defected. We were going straight, each of us trying to wipe out the red in our ledger. And we stayed on that path, if for nothing else only because we were too afraid of what might happen once the darkness crept back in.

"For what it's worth," he said, his voice soft, "I think Steve is an idiot."

I looked at his lips, and it was all the invitation he needed to lean in and close the space between us.

He tasted of the wine we had at dinner, wasting no time as he grabbed my hair by the fistful. I felt myself falling deeper and deeper, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, his neck, drawing him in close. God, how long had it been since I'd last been with someone like this? Certainly not since before Bruce, if not longer.

I scratched at the stubble on his jawline, savoring the taste of his lips against mine. He bit my bottom lip just strong enough to draw blood as he rolled on top of me.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, bucking my hips against his. He pulled away for a moment, sitting up ever so slightly. I opened my eyes and found him staring into mine. It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room. We were both panting, staring at each other under the light of the moon.

"Careful there, Barnes," I whispered. "Keep it up and I don't know if I'll want to stop."

He chuckled. "Now, that doesn't sound like the worst thing in the world."

* * *

_You were broken-hearted and the world was, too  
And I was beginning to lose my grip  
And I have always held it loosely  
But this time I admit  
I felt it really start to slip_

~June, Florence + the Machine

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**Author's Note: **I'm on an Avengers kick, and I've never written for this fandom before. That said, any and all feedback would be very much appreciated—I love the idea of this pairing together, and from the little browsing I've done I've noticed there isn't much on them. I'm happy I could contribute, even only if for this one-shot.

Best,

Ninazadzia


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